The Beast in All of Us
by triseke
Summary: Dean has been plucked from Hell, but how can he ever hope to return to some sort of normalcy? Sam and Cas do their best, but is it enough?
1. Chapter 1

**Caliente, Nevada**

Sam yawned and stretched his back. He glanced at the red glow of the bog standard alarm clock in the corner of the room that pronounced it to be "2.50 a.m." He sighed and looked down at the piles of papers on the table that threatened to fall at any minute. Not that there was any specific filing system or anything, but it would have been a pain in the ass to clean up. The blue flicker on the laptop screen abruptly stopped and informed Sam that his assumption had been correct. The latest victim's body had also disappeared, this time due to a mix up with the coroner. Sam would bet every dollar he had that the body would show up in 2 days time, partially dismembered and sporting no eyes.

The orange light that lit up the practically abandoned motel parking lot began to flicker, casting strange shadows and creating perceived movement. Sam stood, and quickly hurried to the window, peering through a crack in the moth eaten lace curtains. He watched for a moment, hand resting on his gun, waiting. He had learned to trust his instincts and right now they were telling him that it was nothing more than a faulty bulb. Sam exhaled slowly, and decided that he needed to get some sleep.

Across the room, in one of the beds, lay the sleeping form of his brother, Dean. Blankets all drawn up around him, Dean had complained of being cold before finally sleeping. He was always cold lately, Sam thought bitterly. He crossed the room quietly to check on his brother. Dean was sleeping on his back, his breath shallow and uneven. Sam, concerned, stood at the end of bed, hoping that Dean was not going to have another nightmare. Ever since Dean had returned from Hell, his nights, and sometimes Sam wondered about the days too, were plagued by horrible nightmares. In the two months since his return, Sam guessed that Dean had had about 5 nights peaceful sleep.

Dean shifted in his sleep, the blankets falling to one side. Sam could see the bottom of the scar left when Dean had been risen from that God-forsaken place by Cas. What an absolute mess, thought Sam, miserably. He was overjoyed to get his brother back, but it seemed that something bigger was on the horizon, and now there is angels involved?

Sometimes Sam thought about those few years in college that his life was normal. Worrying about exams and hanging out with Jessica and the guys. At the time, he thought he had finally left the family business, and was going to make his own way. Sam felt stupid now, for ever thinking that, and pushed the thought away. That was a lifetime ago, and that life almost certainly didn't belong to him.

Dean twitched his nose in his sleep, and Sam's heart lurched. This was it. The tell. He knew now that Dean was remembering his tenure in Hell. Dean never spoke to Sam about it. Sam didn't know whether it was to spare Sam's feelings or whether Dean was too traumatised to even speak about it. Sam suspected it was the latter, not that Dean would ever say that.

Dean's eyes, though closed, seemed to be tracking something. they moved rapidly, and his breath became shorter. Sam quickly reached forward and plucked the lamp, the glass and the book that were perched on the nightstand, and placed them on the floor. He knew from experience that this would not end well. Dean's eyes flashed open, but Sam knew he was not awake. He knew that Dean was held in whatever nightmare he saw and that Sam could not wake him until it was over. Dean began to cry out.

"No. Please. No. Not that one."

Silence.

"Please."

Silence.

Then the screaming. Dean brought his arms over his head and screamed until his voice became raw. Banging from the room next door ensued. Loud banging. Sam had forgotten that he had not asked for a room away from everyone else when he had checked in earlier today. Shit.

Dean, now mute, but still screaming, and unseeing, flopped back in bed, as Sam raced to the room door, just as the lock turned and the motel owner glared in.

"What the fuck is happening in here?! I'll call the cops!" said the shrivelled old man, teeth stained and yellow. Sam had been reminded of several horror movies had seen when he was a teenager, and this guy fit the "creepy landlord" role to perfection.

"Nothing, sir." Sam said smoothly, partially blocking the view into the room, "My brother has only recently come back from Iraq, and sometimes he has night terrors. I'm sorry if we disturbed anyone."

The old man was silent for a minute, and spat something that instantly congealed on the hard concrete.

"Ok, kid, I won't call the cops. Tonight. But I want you two gone in the morning. I served in the Pacific in the '40s, so I know a bit about what your brother is going through. Tell him that whiskey helps."

Sam nodded, and shut the door. Instantly, he flew to Dean, who was now awake, and staring straight up at the ceiling.

"Hey, man." said Sam, gently, not wanting to startle him. He perched on the edge of the chair closest to the bed. "You ok?"

Dean turned his head to Sam, and Sam saw in the dark that he had been crying. "Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy."

"Y'know you can talk to me. I'm here whenever you need me."

"I said, I'm fine. Goodnight Sam." said Dean, hotly. He twisted over onto his side, away from Sam.

Sam sighed. "Goodnight Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

"Goodnight Dean."

Dean had turned away from his brother, trying to ignore the hurt in Sam's voice. He knew that Sam was only trying to help, to lessen the burden that Dean carried. But no one could do that. No one could even begin to know how the memories burned, and left an unmistakable scar on Dean's mind. He could never leave them alone. The memories were always there. Always threatening to overwhelm him. Just when he thought that he might be able to get a reprieve, the memories flooded back. And anything could trigger them. Dean recalled last week when a woman laughing in the street nearly floored him. He had spent 10 minutes with his head between his knees trying to maintain his cool. He knew Sam was concerned then, and he was concerned now.

Dean screwed his eyes shut and willed the evil thoughts away, pushing them back with happier thoughts. But this never worked, he always had trouble maintaining the happy memories, as even these were used against him. To trick him, to give him hope and then for it be dashed at the end. Alastair always got more of kick out of that.

Alastair. Dean had no words to describe how much he hated this…. thing. The things that Alistair did… Dean swallowed hard. He knew he could never tell Sam what happened. It would break him. Dean had already resolved never to tell him, he would die rather than let Sam know the horrors of what Dean's existence was in that place.

Dean felt his stomach begin to churn and knowing instantly what was about to follow, ran towards the 70s style green bathroom. He dropped to his knees and vomited into the toilet.

"Dean?" came Sam's voice.

Dean instantly reached up and shut the door, leaning his body against it as he wiped the corners of his mouth. He knew Sam was standing on the other side of the door.

"It's nothing. You know what they say about gas station food…" said Dean, weakly.

"You know it's "nothing", Dean. But.." Dean heard Sam sigh. "We can talk about it tomorrow. I don't really want to get into it now. You're ok though?"

"Sure, Sam. I'm fine." said Dean, feeling his stomach turn over again. He barely made the toilet this time. The bile stang Dean's already raw throat. He heard the door open just a crack, and saw Sam's hand place a glass of water just inside the door. Sam closed the door, saying "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

Sam's concern hurt Dean. He didn't deserve it. The glass of water standing as an innocent reminder of Sam's love for him. Dean picked it up and emptied it down the sink, feeling spent. He rinsed his mouth out, and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Eyes red and puffy, dirt that seemed to never truly leave, no matter how often he washed. His fingers absentmindedly touched the imprint of a hand on his right shoulder, as Dean brushed his teeth. He seemed to be unaware that he was almost hugging himself.

He sat in the bathroom for almost an hour, wanting to ensure that Sam was asleep when he emerged. He opened the door a crack, and heard Sam's light snoring. The first light of dawn was sneaking in through the window as Dean got back into bed. He shut his eyes, and the visions of torment again began to flood his mind. This time, however, he felt himself bolstered, a white light standing between him and evil.

"Dean. Sleep now."

Dean heard Castiel deep inside his mind. Knowing that, at least now, he was safe, Dean pulled the blankets tighter around him, and immediately fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It had not been easy to locate Dean Winchester. Castiel knew that he was possibly the most prized possession in Hell and thus would very well guarded. He hoped that he would be able to reach him soon. Heaven's assault was taking longer than even Zachariah had planned but Castiel thought that they must be close now. He heard the dim sounds of metal crashing behind him. His orders told him to clear this section and to press forward. Sword in hand, Castiel kept low to the floor and moved on.

He didn't even consciously react when the demon tried to get the drop on him from behind. Castiel spun around and drove his weapon hard through the demon's chest. The demon did not even cry out. However, the cries from several hundred feet up ahead caused Castiel minor concern. He turned his back on the spot where the demon had fallen and moved on.

Some time later, how much later Castiel would not know, he felt his energy ebb. He had felled dozens of all manner of demon. He pressed on, not minding his own discomfort, and soon found his objective. He saw the broken body of Dean Winchester, tethered to a post. His arms were tied at odd angles above him, his shoulders jutting out at unnatural junctions. His feet were shackled to the floor, his legs spread apart. Naked, Castiel could see that Dean's body was covered in both dry and fresh blood, covering multitudes of lesions and wounds. Castiel saw that Dean had what appeared to be metal shards resting in his wounds. Dean's head lolled to the right, his eyes closed. A blood bubble formed on the edge of Dean's lips and burst. Castiel saw that his teeth were missing.

Castiel approached the prisoner, and reached for him. In an instant, the shackles disappeared and Dean fell forward, onto Castiel. Castiel swayed, momentarily stunned. Not because Dean was heavier than expected, but because of the light that suddenly blinded him. In that second, he knew that Dean was the Righteous Man. His soul shone with such a brilliant clarity that Castiel felt slightly afraid, for he know what Dean would be asked to do, and he was afraid of tarnishing the light. He looked down at the broken body he carried. Dean had given no indication that he knew what was happening. Castiel held him close to his chest, and ran.

Passing his brothers, he knew that he would lose some of them this night and that he must press on, lest they find their end in vain. Castiel knew that the journey out of Hell was not long but that they were far from safety where they were. Suddenly, images flooded his mind. Horrible images of evil, twisted doings. He felt them dig into his body and take root. A pressure was building in Castiel. He knew, instinctively, that what he was seeing was Dean's past. He felt sick, seeing Alistair place iron rods and blades into places they never should have been. He felt Dean's flesh snap and heard him cry out in desperate pain for something, someone, to save him.

Each passing second was agony for Castiel. He tried to blot the images from his mind, to try and maintain a clear head, should he need to fight, but he was finding it difficult. Wave after wave of memories flowed into him. Dean being rent in two. Dean having his teeth smashed. Dean being forced to … Castiel closed his eyes, burying the image. Dean seeing Sam "come to rescue him" only for the illusion to be torn away at the last second. Dean reliving every moment when he couldn't save someone, being made to believe it was his fault. Dean always being told he was not good enough. Not good enough. Castiel heard it in Dean's father's voice. Over and over again. Dean as a child trying to reassemble a gun fast enough. Hitting the target that was just too far away. Being left to raise Sam. Trying to give his brother a life. Castiel gasped. It was too much. He was getting too much information, too many images. He had to be nearly at his journey's end. He was becoming almost frantic now. He had to stop this outpouring, it was too much. How one soul could take so much abuse was unknowable.

Castiel knew right then that he would never let this happen again. He needed to save Dean Winchester if it was the last thing he ever did.

"We are nearly there, Dean. I am sorry." Castiel spoke softly.


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean?" Sam tried gently woke his brother. He was thrilled when he woke up this morning, seeing Dean fast asleep, blanket askew and Dean sleeping in possibly the most uncomfortable looking position Sam had ever seen, but Dean looked peaceful. Sam had not seen this in a long time, and he was happy that his brother had gained at least one night's rest.

Sam had quietly left the room to source some breakfast, and upon his return with several doughnuts and some coffee, he was sure he heard the tell tale flutter of wings that he had quickly associated with Cas' arrival, but no Cas appeared. Sam was clever enough to work this out. He quickly shot Cas a "thanks" prayer. Sam was never sure if Cas actually heard these. He always, without fail, came when Dean prayed to him, but had yet to do so for Sam. At least, thought Sam, it's the thought that counts.

Sam moved closer to Dean's bed, and lightly touched his shoulder, "Dean?"

Mumble. Grumble.

"Dean, I have food?" Sam tried, trying to tempt his brother. He saw Dean crack an eyelid, yawn and then stretch.

5 minutes later, perched on the side of the bed, Dean had eaten 2 of the doughnuts and drank half the coffee.

"How did you sleep?" Sam enquired.

"Better than I have in a long time." Dean swallowed another bite of the pastry. "What's the plan for today?"

Sam exhaled lightly. "It's not good."

He twisted around and located his laptop, sitting beside Dean so that he could show his brother what he had found.

"Five people in the past 5 months. Each of them disappear initially. All from places that a missing person is not normally a big deal."

"Homeless?" Dean asked.

"Bingo." Sam continued, "Their body is then found, and within the next 48 hours,each of their bodies went missing from the morgue and then shows up again a couple of days later, missing some parts and always missing their eyes."

Dean said nothing, just continued to stare at the laptop.

"It's not like when we dealt with Bloody Mary, these eyes are being cut out." Sam was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, just as he always did since Dean came back and Sam had to explain some horrible act.

Dean closed his eyes. "Where?"

"Philadelphia." said Sam, lamely,

"Why now? Has it happened again?" said Dean, meeting Sam's eyes.

"The latest victim, a woman, in her early 20s, called Joanne Turner, disappeared from straight in front of her friends eyes. The only reason we know about this is that her friend was put in a psychiatric ward and broke out. She's now missing too, and the cops aren't really taking huge leaps forward in the investigation."

Sam had begun to pace the floor.

"Dean, I know that Joanne's body is gonna turn up in the next few days. I think it might be our kind of thing."

Dean sighed, and snapped the laptop shut. "When do we leave?"


	5. Chapter 5

Dean slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. He loved this car. He had mended it and polished it and completely rebuilt it more times that he could count. The smell of the worn leather and hard steering wheel were more comforting for him than a large feather bed with warm cocoa on tap. He adjusted the rear view mirror, watching Sam tip their bags into the trunk. The loud clatter of metal on metal echoed as Sam closed the trunk with force and a couple of seconds later, Dean felt the familiar presence of Sam flop down in the front seat beside him.

Suddenly, Dean was flooded with memories of their childhood. How many times had he and Sam fought over the who got to be shotgun whilst their dad drove? Dean always won, but Sam fought with him EVERY time. John would tolerate only a certain amount of bickering and if the boys were not careful, John would make them both sit in the back seat. This never bode well for Dean. He knew that he would be getting "The Speech" later on. Every time he fought with Sam, everytime Sam ran away or went "missing", even if it was for 10 minutes, John would sit Dean down and scream at him, saying that he had to keep Sammy safe. Dean, even now as an adult, had the words memorised.

John would get really close to his face, and start lowly. "I have given you one task, boy. Just one."

Dean would try to look away, trying not to meet the slight insanity that dwelt in John's eyes, but John would not allow him. Sometimes he would just grab his jaw and make him, other times, he would strike him.

"Sam is your brother Dean. He needs to be protected. He needs you to protect him. Why can you not do this simple task? I put my trust in you to keep him protected and every time. EVERYTIME WITHOUT FAIL YOU LET ME DOWN!" John would be shouting at this point, throwing books and cups and whatever he could get his hands on, sometimes at Dean, sometimes at the room.

"You are useless, Dean. Useless and incompetent. I don't know why I keep trying to show you responsibility, as you always let me down, your brother down, and your mother down. You are not good enough, Dean. You are simply not good enough."

"Dean, you ok?" came Sam's voice, from somewhere far away.

Dean remembered that he was no longer 10 years old, and gripped the wheel tight. "Just some old memories, Sammy, nothing hellish is happening up here right now.", Dean said, tapping one of his fingers on his forehead, and throwing Sam a slight smile, knowing that this small gesture would make Sam's worry ease. He saw the way Sam looked at him nowadays, like Dean was a ticking time bomb, that might explode at any second.

"If you say so, dude." Sam had his head buried in Dean's tape collection, rifling through them.

"My pick, brother. You know the rules!"

Dean saw Sam grin at him, as Dean dug his hand into the collection, not even looking for a particular tape. His hands closed over one, and he threw it into the tape player. Almost instantly Dean heard the familiar opening guitar riff, and the always recognisable voice of Jimi Hendrix growling out "All Along the Watchtower". Dean inhaled, letting the music slowly worm it's way inside his head, so that all he think of was the song around him. He smiled, his head beginning to bob in time. He turned the key, and the Impala roared to life. He upped the volume of the tape player, unwound his window, for the Nevada sun was starting to beat down, and urged the Impala forward.

Dean was now experiencing one of the things in his life that made him truly happy. Long road trip, awesome music, and his brother beside him. He felt, just in that second, that he could be happy again.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel always came when Dean called to him. He wasn't sure why, he was nearly always doing something more important than visiting a broken hunter, but still Castiel went. Like tonight. He implicitly knew when Dean needed him, whether Dean had called to him or not. He could have heard Dean's torment from a million miles away. Castiel knew that Dean was relieving all of those moments in Hell when he was completely and utterly alone. Not anymore. Too many nights had Castiel heard Dean's mind scream, and knowing he could not help him. Tonight was different. He had directly disobeyed orders to be here. Castiel found that this bothered him less than he thought it would.

Castiel arrived at the motel room, invisible, and watched Dean sneak from the bathroom and lay down in bed. Castiel saw Dean's feature's crease as he closed his eyes to try and rest. If anyone needed a rest, it was Dean Winchester. Castiel appeared beside Dean, and spoke directly to his mind.

"Dean. Sleep now."

Instantly, Castiel saw Dean's face relax. Castiel smiled to himself, knowing that he was able to help Dean rest. He knew it from the beginning, when he took Dean out of the Pit. He knew that Dean was not going to whole for a long time. The least Castiel could do was try and help him in the meantime.

Castiel stood still in silent, invisible vigil over Dean for the remainder of the night. He knew Dean was not in pain. Not like when he found him. 

Castiel gently lay Dean down. The man had not moved, nor made a sound since Castiel had come across him, tethered. Castiel touched Dean's forehead gently, and focused. He heard the sounds of bone snapping together, and muscles slowly knotting themselves together. He felt the foreign objects, hard steel and glass, evaporate and he smoothed over years of tension held in the spine and neck, fixing where they had been broken so many times. The process was not instantaneous. This was new. Castiel was used to healing people immediately with his touch, but then, it was not every day one had to heal a soul rescued from the confines of Hell.

Time passed.

Castiel had healed all of Dean's physical wounds. It had taken more out of him that he would care to admit. He stood back and admired his handiwork. He had completely rebuilt Dean. Even scars that were decades old, possibly that Dean had received as a child, were now gone. Dean did not look like had ever been scratched, never mind anything worse.

What concerned Castiel was the ball of emotional pain he could feel in Dean's head. He could not fix this. He could not heal it. He saw it as a black spot on an otherwise pure soul.

Dean's eyes opened suddenly. Castiel was at a loss as to what to say. He was told Dean would not wake until he was going to be returned to Earth.

"Who is it this time?" Dean spat, sitting up. Castiel noticed him noticing his lack of bindings. "Oh, we're playing this game again? Alastair, really? We've already done this one."

Dean stood up, and walked towards Castiel.

"And who is this supposed to be? Answer me Alastair!" Dean shouted.

Castiel was stunned. He was not expecting this, then cursed himself. He should have expected something like this. Hell had played all sorts of tricks on Dean's mind, of course he would not be trusting.

"I am not a trick, Dean. I have not been sent by Alastair. You - "

"SHUT UP!" Dean interrupted the angel.

Silence fell.

"Dean Winchester, this is not Hell. I am not one of its inhabitants. My name is Castiel, and I am an Angel of the Lord. I pulled you from the Pit and brought you here." Castiel said quickly.

Dean shook his head. "I don't believe you."

"But that's the - " Castiel began.

Dean looked at the ground. "Just get it over it." Dean stood with his arms held behind his back, and suddenly dropped to his knees, forehead pressed against the floor.

Castiel spoke softly, "Dean, you are not in Hell. You are safe. I fought to find you in the Pit and I brought you back. You are not going to be harmed." He closed the distance between himself and Dean, and knelt beside him. "You are safe."

Dean said nothing.

"You will be returned to Earth. I will find you and I will watch over you. You may not remember this when you wake again, but know you are safe.

Dean said nothing, but looked up to met Castiel's eyes. "We'll see."

Castiel reached forward, and touched the side of Dean's forehead. Dean disappeared. 

Dean shifted in his sleep.

Castiel stood, watching over the Righteous Man as he slept.


	7. Chapter 7

**Terre Haute, Indiana**

Several Days Later

A knock reverberated through the motel room. Sam looked up from his laptop, and met Dean's puzzled face.

"Who the hell is that?" asked Dean, lowly, grabbing his gun.

"No idea, no one knows we're here, right?" replied Sam, closing the laptop, and slowly moving for the gun resting on the table.

Dean moved slowly towards the thick lace curtains that obscured the window. He gently moved one corner. He saw a woman waiting at the door. She appeared to be looking at her hands. She didn't look like she worked at the motel. The knocking started again.

Dean motioned for Sam to answer the door. Sam nodded, and moved slowly towards the battered motel room door. He quickly turned the handle, and stepped back, his gun poised, ready to react.

"Hello?" came a soft voice. Accented, not American.

The Winchesters didn't respond immediately. They looked at each other, silently trying to communicate what to do next. Dean lowered himself down, making him practically hidden behind the chest of drawers under the window. Sam twisted his arm, hiding the gun behind his back. He cleared his throat

"H.. Hi. Can I help you?" asked Sam, stepping closer to the woman.

"Mr. Thompson?" the woman asked.

"That's me." replied Sam, smiling.

"Is your guest also with you? Its just I have a message…" the woman trailed off, looking sheepish.

"Uh.. no, he's just stepped out, but you can give the message to me. I'll make sure he gets it." Sam made a move to grab some paper.

The woman seemed to be taking a mental note of the room. The boys' bags were strewn across the beds. Books littered the blue motel table, and there were stacks of papers on the floor. She seemed to raise her eyebrows, and smiled.

"So, what was the message?" asked Sam, trying not to glance at Dean who still had his gun pointed at the woman. She had moved slightly into the room at this stage.

"That I would like your brother to stop pointing that thing at me." The woman's gaze had not left Sam, but Sam saw the familiar glint of a pistol, trained on Dean.

Dean stood up, not dropping his gaze or his gun. "Not gonna happen, sugar."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Sam, as he snapped his own gun forward.

The woman sighed, and made a show of dropping her pistol.

"The name's Marianne. Marianne Fox, and I've been looking for you boys. For quite some time actually."

"Oh really?" said Dean, smiling, though it did not reach his eyes.

"Yes. Really. I needed to find you." Marianne turned to look at Dean. "I need your help."

Sam threw a look to his brother, silently asking him to lower his weapon. Dean did not.

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" Dean's voice hard.

"I guess you don't but I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not a demon or a ghost or whatever." Marianne turned her back to the men. "Look." She lifted up her shirt a little. The boys were greeted with the familiar anti - possession tattoo, nestled snugly in the small of this woman's back. She smiled quickly. "Drunken mistake, hadn't planned on getting it as a "Tramp Stamp" but hey, still does the job."

There was silence.

Then, Dean asked "You a hunter?"

Marianne turned to face them again. "Unfortunately." she said, pausing. "Hell of a time finding you boys though."

"We don't generally like being followed." said Sam, frowning.

"Oh, I know. Took me 6 months to find you. Also, this goddamn country is too big." Marianne made a move to sit down. Dean and Sam moved closer, guns still trained on her. "Can we please drop the guns? It's not exactly polite. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have never announced myself, now would I? What am I gaining?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. She had a point. They slowly lowered their pistols, but did not relinquish them.

"That's better." said Marianne, smiling, sitting precariously on Dean's bed, her feet dangling off the edge.

Now that the imminent threat of being shot had dispersed, the boys were able to get a better look at the woman seated before them. Illuminated by the soft orange light of the ancient lighting fixtures, she could not have been more than 30 years old. Blonde hair wrapped tightly in a bun, and soft features. Her jeans had little holes in them that spoke more of neglect than fashion, and her jacket seemed to be fraying in all the wrong places. She had a little purse strapped tightly to her thigh and a gun holster hidden underneath her jacket.

"You mentioned you wanted us to help you?" asked Sam, pulling a lopsided chair up, and dropping his large frame into it.

"Yes. My father suggested that I find you guys. He.. " she stopped, and swallowed. "He died a couple of months ago looking for this goddamn son of a bitch demon. Last thing he said to me actually. Find those Winchester boys. Tell 'em that I don't blame their Daddy."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean's jaw tightened, and Sam looked away from them both, the motel room seemingly impossibly small.

"Blame our Dad for what?" asked Dean, eventually.

"His death." said Marianne, quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

"His death?" asked Sam, concern colouring his features.

"Well, not directly. I suppose. I don't really know the details, that's just what he said." Marianne said, fingering the tatty comforter on the bed. "He didn't know that John had passed." Marianne looked at Sam and then to Dean. "I am sorry. He was a good man."

"The best." Dean said gruffly. Sam nodded.

"I.. I never met him. But my father spoke highly of him. He was there after your mother died." Marianne found it hard to talk to them about this. It wasn't her story. She had no right, but she needed them to see where she and her father fit into their story so they might help her.

"What?" Dean's voice was low, dangerous. Marianne realised that he was beginning to think she was lying.

She took a deep breath.

"My father's family was friendly with your mother's family. I think it started with their grandparents, but I'm not sure. After Mary died, my father stayed with John for a couple of weeks. I understand that Mary had told him nothing?"

No reaction.

Marianne continued. "My dad went with him. Tried to talk to him. But John was distraught. My dad said something changed that night for John. He wasn't the same person anymore. My dad used to tell me stories when I was kid of his friends in America, and how he and Mary would hunt when they were younger, and kill the monsters that lived under my bed." Marianne smiled softly.

No reaction, but Marianne was aware that Dean had shifted his gun to train on her once more.

Marianne held up a finger, and reached into her bag. She withdrew a book similar to what John had left his sons, and a tall thin black book. She flipped it open. It was full of photographs.

"Look, I'm not trying to upset you lads or anything. I swear I'm not. I just want you to see I'm on the level."

She pointed at one photograph of a young, blond man with a beard, giving a piggy back to a smiling, laughing Mary Winchester. The next photograph was a picture of John with the same man, talking with beers in hand, leaning over a familiar black hood. Dean inhaled quickly. That was the Impala.. Sam took the album and leaned over to Dean, allowing him to see better. The boys had never seen these photographs, or anything like them. Beyond one or two pictures that they each had, John had destroyed all photographs when they were both children.

Sam flicked onto the next page. Mary was now hugging John at the beach, her hair streaming across her face. The next photograph was of a group of people that seemed slightly familiar but neither Sam nor Dean could recognise them. The next was of a smiling Mary Winchester in a wedding dress, coming down a staircase. Dean swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that was forming in his throat. A couple more of casual photos, peppered with the blonde man. Then, a pregnant Mary with a glass of milk balanced on her stomach. Then a baby, crinkled and red.

"Sam, that's enough." said Dean, coughing and looking away. Sam did not stop. He flipped forward until he found himself. Tiny and crying, being held aloft by his doting mother. He snapped the album shut.

"That's for you, if you want it." said Marianne. "My dad wanted you to have it. He wasn't sure if you had any photographs."

"Thanks, that's really… " Sam took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"The blonde guy is your dad?" asked Dean, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, thats him. James." said Marianne, smiling slightly.

"Mother?" asked Dean, meeting Marianne's eyes.

"My dad left my mother when I was 4 years old. Apparently, he came home to find her trying to exorcise me."

"That's harsh." said Dean, "Why?"

Marianne sighed. "I don't know. My mother, Hannah, was slightly unstable, but my father loved her so much. He always forgave her whenever she did something crazy. That time was different though. He said that he came home from hunting earlier than expected and he found me tied to a chair. Little four year old me. Soaking wet from the holy water and shivering. Covered in my own blood too, if his account is anything to go by. Apparently she also did this." Marianne shrugged her jacket off, and pulled up her sleeves. Engraved onto her forearms were hundreds of small symbols, some of which were familiar to Sam.

"Are they all Enochian?" asked Sam, leaning in to get a better look. Marianne rotated her arms so that Sam could see. "I think so, but my dad and I have searched for years. They don't mean anything. Just marks of a mad woman." She dropped her sleeves. "Couple this with his friend dying, he just wanted a new start. So he took me, and bolted half way across the world, to some no name village in the middle of nowhere, in Ireland."

Marianne continued, "I'm not sure he ever meant to teach me to hunt, but it just sort of happened. I loved it. Took to it like a duck takes to water. It was just me and my dad against the forces of evil. I worried about him though. He would never take me with him, always left me in crappy hotel rooms with no one but the tv for company. He would drill me, over and over, and over, about how to kill, track and investigate weird happenings. When I was older, he took me abroad with him to hunt. The moors of Scotland, the forests of Romania and the mountains of Minnesota, I've hunted in them all."

"Minnesota?" snorted Dean, "Yeah, we've hunted there. Hunted all over the U S of A. Not sure how this fits in with you looking for our help, sweetheart."

"I'm getting to that." Marianne scowled at him. "When I was 17 I thought that I wanted something else, something other than hunting. Me and my dad were camping on the beach near some no name town in Kerry, and I told him that I wanted to get a proper job. He didn't want me to leave, but I was 17, I knew everything. So I packed my stuff the next morning, and left for Dublin. Got myself a job in a call centre, of all things! Can you imagine?!"

Sam nodded, as if he knew exactly how she felt.

"It was there that I met Ashling Long. I didn't know it when I first met her, but she was going to be everything I ever wanted." Marianne smiled openly. "I never thought I would love a woman. Didn't even enter my head. But I loved her. Was like a bolt of lightning when I realised. Everyone around me apparently could see that we were made for each other, except us. It was the night she had gotten mugged, and she called me, desperate and scared. I flew from my apartment and ran to find her. When I did find her, she was covered in blood and dirt, her light coloured coat soaking up multitudes of blood. I thought she was going to die, and in that second, I knew I couldn't lose her. Turns out she wasn't half as badly injured as I thought she was, but my feelings were there then, and I didn't want to take them back."

Sam glanced at his brother, who was listening, raptly, to what Marianne was saying.

"Once it became clear, and it became clear very quickly, that things were going to go in a romantic way, I wanted Ash to know everything. All the hunting, all the fucked up shit that we get to do on a daily basis to protect people who never even knew they were in danger. She just sat and listened to me, twirling a strand of that hair of hers with her fingers. You know what she said when I was done? This goddamn woman who was much too good for me. You know what she said?" Marianne paused.

"She said, that it was ok, and would I like tea. Just like that. I almost asked her to marry me right then."

Marianne didn't seem aware that the boys were not responding to her, just sitting listening to her story.

"I slowly started to teach her a couple of things to protect herself, y'know, the usual. Salt, holy water, iron, the basics. I never wanted her to be involved. I practically stopped hunting then, only going when I was asked by friends or my father. We slipped into a quiet domestic life. We lived in an apartment. I had a bed, a place to hang my clothes. There was a coffee machine that never worked and sunny yellow curtains in the kitchen. Ash would drag me to some garden centre or some department store on Sundays and debate the pros of getting a blue pottery jug versus a steel one. That was my life. And I loved it. I had her. That was all I wanted."

"This… this part is hard. Forgive me." Marianne stumbled over her words now. "Ash always wanted a family. Soon after we got married, she asked if we could have a baby. A friend of ours kindly assisted in providing the necessary ingredients, and soon Ash was pregnant." Marianne reached into her bag again, and pulled out a wallet. She took 2 pictures out of it, showing them again to the boys. One was of Marianne, and what the Winchesters assumed to be Ash, smiling and laughing. Marianne had her hand on Ash's pregnant belly. The dark haired woman was very beautiful. She reminded Sam briefly of Ruby, her hair the same dark colour. The next photo was of the same woman and little blonde haired boy, about 2 years old.

"That's my son. Diarmaid. Named after Ash's father." Marianne gestured for the pictures. Dean handed them back to her. Marianne gently touched the photo of her son.

"I only left that night because I was asked. I got a call from a friend of my father's, Tony, who was hunting a Black Dog near me, and needed a guide. I promised Ash I would only be gone a little while. I put my son to bed, and kissed my wife. She made me promise I'd come back in one piece. I told her I would, always would come back to her. I tracked that goddamn omen all night with Tony, but never found him. Goddamn death omens."

Marianne swallowed thickly. "I knew there was something wrong before I even opened the door. Yknow that hot feeling, that kick in your stomach, that innate feeling of wrongness? I had that the minute I got to my front door. It wasn't even locked. I opened it, and there, in a puddle in the hallway was my wife. My heart dropped a 1000 feet as I ran to her. I knew she was dead before I touched her. Her arms were all bent out of shape, there was claw marks on her back, and her head was just a little too far to the left. Her eyes were wide open, and her face had a look of pure horror on it. I slipped on her blood as I stood, screaming for my son. I stumbled over broken drawers and doors. The place was a wreck, and I found my son hiding in a wardrobe."

Marianne's voice cracked. "He wasn't breathing. Just hidden amongst old coats and boxes. He had tried to hide from whatever killed him. I pulled him out, and I don't know. I can't remember what happened. I just remember trying to wake him up, and Ash's blood smearing his hair. He was two years old."

Sam made a move to touch Marianne, but Dean stopped him. The death of kids always played a little on Dean's mind.

"I must have called my father, because he arrived soon after that. He took me out and called the police. I honestly don't remember anything properly for the following 6 months. I drank and slept and cried. It was after that my father told me that it wasn't a random act of cruelness. Something had taken my wife and my son away from me. That's when I began to hunt again. I killed evil sons of bitches at an alarming rate. My father followed the demon's trail to America as I was caught up in a job in London. He found its name, what it was calling itself. He told me, and I came to join him."

Marianne took a sip of something from a hip flask. "So, I followed the trail with Dad, sleeping in the most uncomfortable car in the world. Goddamn bitch got the drop on us, and that's when Dad got hurt, when he gave me that message."

She fixed her eyes on both Sam and Dean. "That's why I'm looking for you and why I need you to help me. Dad said you have met this bitch and may know where to find her."

"The name?" asked Sam.

"Meg." said Marianne.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean barked out a laugh. "Meg? That bitch is in the Pit. She's never gonna see the light of day again."

Marianne looked down, her eyes focused on her fingers in front of her, and for a long moment didn't say anything. When she looked up again to meet Dean's eyes, he wasn't sure if it was anger that was flashing in her eyes or tears. A half smile quirked at the corner of her mouth, and she exhaled a long breath.

"Good."

When it became apparent that Marianne wasn't going to add anything more, Sam cleared his throat, asking "I'm sorry. That was probably not the answer you were looking for."

Marianne ran her hand along her chin, thoughtful. "No, but it's as good as I can get. I'm glad she's gone, that someone gave her hell. You did give her hel,l right?"

Dean nodded, "And how."

Marianne nodded. "That's all that matters." She stood up. "I appear to have wasted your time, boys. I'm sorry, I'll head off." She pulled her coat tighter, almost unconsciously. Suddenly, a phone rang. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, as Marianne searched her pockets, bringing out the most battered cell phone they had ever seen. Marianne mouthed "Sorry." as she flipped it open. Marianne listened for a moment, a frown creasing her features, and then erupted at the phone, shouting in a language the guys didn't understand. The argument proceeded for a number of minutes, until Marianne relented, her tone of voice shifted, even though the guys didn't understand her words, they understood she had lost whatever argument she was having. She flipped the phone shut, and said "Sorry. Friend of mine. Mariusz knew that I was going to talk to you this evening. I had promised that I would call by now. He thought I was dead. Idiot." she finished, not unkindly.

"I should go." Marianne turned to leave.

A flutter of wings and a light breeze indicated that they had a guest. Cas had arrived, standing in the doorway. Marianne's eyes widened, and she drew her weapon instinctively. Cas frowned, and said nothing,

"Marianne, it's cool. He's with us." Dean said, reaching out to Marianne, his hands placating.

"How did he just appear? I didn't hear him come in." Marianne lowered the gun, slightly, her gaze fixed on the angel.

"I am an Angel of the Lord. I come and go as I please." answered Cas, almost petulantly. Marianne dropped her weapon, and looked as if she was caught in the path of an oncoming truck.

"I - I -" Marianne was stammering, staring at the ground. Her knees buckled and she slumped onto the floor. 

"Marianne, stand up. It's not like that." Dean reached over, and touched her shoulder. He was surprised when he felt heat radiate from Marianne's body. "You ok?"

"I need to leave." Marianne replied faintly. She tried to stand, but wobbled to the point where Dean had to steady her.

"Are you ill?" asked Cas, crossing the room to where Marianne was.

"NO." she almost shouted. "I can't.. Don't touch me. I have to go." She wrenched herself from Dean's grip. Marianne had a wildness in her eyes that none in the room understood. She picked her bag up, and practically ran to the door. "Thanks." She didn't meet Cas' eyes, and was gone.

There was a silence that descended on the room. Dean, Cas and Sam, each as confused as the other, didn't know what to say. They didn't see what was happening outside in the parking lot.

Marianne was leaning against the door of the "borrowed" car she had, the cool metal soothing the fire that seemed to be leaping from her skin. She found it difficult to swallow and a ball of fear was knotting in her stomach. All she knew was she had to get out of here, immediately. She reached into her bag and withdrew a pen and paper. She hastily scribbled a note, with an apology and a contact number, and slipped it under the windshield wipers of the Impala, which was parked a little ways away. She dropped into the driver's seat of her own car, and gunned it out of the parking lot. She was 25 miles away when she felt herself calm slightly.

Something about the angel had caused her body to react. She was inexplicably frightened, and all she knew, in her bones, was that she never wanted to see him again.


End file.
